The Heart Of The Matter
by 51Dreaming
Summary: When Johnny takes up a new hobby, will it spell the end of his friendship with Roy...or something worse?


The Heart Of The Matter

Much as I wish otherwise, all Emergency characters belong to Mark VII and Universal Studios.

For Ingrida, in memory of her beloved father

**Chapter One**

"Where the hell is he?"

Cap glanced at the clock in the dayroom. Eight am on the dot, time for roll call, and Johnny Gage was nowhere to be seen. The paramedics from C Shift glanced at each other and flipped a coin.

"Sorry, Roger," Troy Macy laughed. "See ya in a few." He disappeared into the locker room to change into his civvies. Roger Penway rolled his eyes and turned to Roy DeSoto.

"We had sixteen runs yesterday. I'm running on empty." Roy nodded. He knew that feeling all too well. And so did Johnny. One of the many reasons being on time for a shift change was vital. Johnny was usually early. But not today.

"Okay, everyone find something to do...I'm going to call his home." Cap disappeared into his office.

"Look, why don't you go relax," Roy offered. "I'll check supplies."

"Thanks." Roger headed off to slouch on the sofa and snooze. Roy shook his head and pulled the drug box. The moment he opened it he knew that a supply run to Rampart was in order. Roger and Troy must have been called on runs straight from the hospital. Supplies were sparse.

"We gotta do a hose check. I'm gonna back her out." Mike Stoker opened the back door to the bay, hopped aboard Big Red, and started the engine. She roared to life and slowly backed out of the bay into the lot behind Station Fifty-One. Marco Lopez and Chet Kelly followed the engine and began checking equipment.

Cap emerged from his office. He crouched down to Roy.

"No answer."

"Must be on his way."

"Yeah." he patted Roy on the shoulder and walked to the back lot to assist in the inspection of the engine.

Roy continued to check the drug box. "Oh, man..." He replaced the box in the squad and grabbed the handset.

"L.A., Squad 51 out one hour."

"Squad Fifty-One."

Roy left the bay for the back lot.

"Cap, listen, I gotta make a supply run right now. We can't go on a run with the drugs we're missing."

"That bad?"

"Yeah. We're completely outta - "

"Man, is that GAGE?" Chet Kelly's shout interrupted Roy. He pointed down the street. The crew watched, incredulous.

"That IS Gage. He's crazy!" Marco shouted. They backed out of the way as Johnny roared into the lot. He pulled into his space. The crew crowded around him.

"Johnny, are you NUTS? You know what they call these things?"

"Yeah, they're...hold it a second." Johnny pulled off his helmet.

"Hogs."

**Chapter Two**

"Gage, that's a "donor-cycle." You know how many people crack up on those things and end up as spare parts for transplants?"

"Chet, I can always count on you for positive feedback," Johnny shook his head. "So, whadaya guys think?"

"Nice Harley, Johnny," Marco ventured tentatively. He touched the chrome. "Ya buy it new?"

"Nah, got from an ad in the paper. Guy's wife wouldn't let him ride it," Johnny laughed.

"Do you have a license for this thing?" Mike asked dubiously. Johnny rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet. "Of course I have a license. I'm not stupid, ya know." Chet snickered.

"That's highly debatable, Gage."

"Hey, who asked you?"

"Okay, guys, cut it out," Cap intervened. Mike shrugged and turned back to the engine. "I gotta charge the hoses."

Johnny looked at Roy, staring dumbfounded at the Harley. "So, whadaya think? Want me to take ya for a spin around the block?"

"Uh, no thanks."

"How come?" Roy shrugged.

"Motorcycles just aren't my thing."

"Johnny," Marco said, his hand still on the bike, "I'd kinda like to try it."

"Sure, just get your turnout coat on. "Oh, and wear your helmet. Gotta he safe." Marco climbed into the engine to retrieve his gear. Chet snickered. "Real Harley riders don't wear helmets." Johnny made a face at Chet, climbed back on the bike and backed it out of the parking space.

"Hold it...you're going to have to wait until after shift," Cap interrupted.

"Aw, Cap..."

The hoses charged, one snaked across the lot as it filled with water.

"Okay, to the end of the block and back. That's it!"

"Great! thanks, Cap. Come on, Marco, climb aboard." Marco swing a leg over and sat down gingerly. "Where do I put my hands?" Chet snickered. "Around Gage's neck, maybe."

"Chet, shaddup. Anywhere ya want, Pal. Just leave my arms free to control the bike."

A few adjustments, and Johnny took off down the block. Chet returned to checking hoses, Cap and Roy watched Johnny and Marco ride the bike down the block, turn, and head back toward the station. Cap shook his head.

"Gage, slow down! You're coming in too fast!"

They stepped aside as Johnny approached the lot. As he took the turn into the driveway, a second water charged hose snaked across the pavement. Johnny rode straight into it. The bike flipped, slamming Johnny into the handlebars and sending Marco flying into the retaining wall. The bike landed on its side, wheels spinning.

**Chapter Three**

The sound of the crash brought Roger running into the lot. He took one look, ran back into the bay, and started pulling supplies. Simultaneously, Chet grabbed the handset.

L.A., this is Station Fifty-One. We have a still alarm at this location. We need an ambulance."

"Station Fifty-One." Chet returned to the lot, where Roger was attending to Marco while Roy took care of Johnny.

"Chet, get Rampart on the line." Chet set up the biophone and picked up the handset.

"Rampart Base, this is Rescue 51, how do you read?"

**Chapter Four**

"What happened to Marco? Go take care of Marco!" Johnny looked up at Roy as he eased the helmet off Johnny's head.

"Marco's okay, Roger's got him."

"The hell he is. He hit the wall, he's gotta be - " Johnny let out a gasp of pain as he struggled to sit up.

"Come on, lie back down. Roger's got him." Roy glanced over at Marco. He was sitting up against the wall, clutching his shoulder.

Chet handed him the biophone. "I've got Rampart." Johnny reached a hand up to Chet. "Roger, give it to Roger. Roy nodded curtly. "Okay, okay." Chet ran the Biophone to Roger.

"Rampart, we have a male, age approximately 30, the victim of a motorcycle accident. He was thrown off the cycle into a wall. The point of contact was his left shoulder.

"Fifty-One, was he wearing protective gear?"

"That's affirmative, Rampart. He was wearing a firefighter's helmet and turnout coat."

"Repeat, Fifty-One? Did you say 'firefighter's helmet and turnout coat?'"

"That's affirmative."

Marco let out a moan. "Man, it's my shoulder. And my neck. Shit, they're killing me, man." Roger nodded at him.

"Rampart, victim is complaining of shoulder and neck pain. Vitals are:BP, 130/90, pulse 60, respirations 16. Patient is in considerable pain.

'Fifty-One, start an IV with D5W TKO, administer 5 mg MS IV, immobilize neck and shoulder."

"Ten-four. Rampart, we have another victim, hold for info."

"Ten-Four."

Roger dragged the drug box over to Marco, pulled it open and grabbed the D5W and MS. "Marco, you okay if I cut your turnout off you, or you want me to inch your arm out?"

"Inch it out, man. Don't cut it," Marco said between clenched teeth.

"Okay. Stoker, help me here. First we're gonna immobilize his neck. Then we'll get his good arm out so I can access a vein and get the IV and MS in him. Okay, Marco, hang on, buddy." Roger and Mike began the painstaking task of immobilizing Marco's injuries, Marco's soft voice repeating, "Oh, shit, oh, shit," as they worked.

**Chapter Five**

It was a beautiful, cloudless day in Los Angeles, mid seventies, light breeze. Johnny noted the lack of clouds and wondered if maybe he could get in some rock climbing as soon as shift was over. A shadow blocked the sun and he saw Roy's worried face, felt gentle fingers moving over him.

"Hey, what're ya do doing?"

"Checking you for injuries. Can you move your legs?"

"Of course I can. I'm fine. Would ya lay off?"

"Hold still. How about your arms? Your fingers?" Johnny wiggled his fingers. Roy gently checked his abdomen and chest.

"Feel anything?"

"Nah, just a bit tender. Come on, Roy, lay off, I'm okay." He tried to roll over, but Roy's hand stopped him.

"Just gonna get an arm out of your jacket."

"Okay, okay. Careful. It's new." Roy suppressed a snort. Johnny in a black leather jacket. On a Harley. Almost a comical sight, like a kid playing grownup. He worked Johnny's arms out, unbuttoned his shirt and drew in a sharp breath. He rechecked Johnny's chest and abdomen. Johnny winced.

"That hurt?"

"A little."

"Or a lot? Come on, John..."

"Yeah, it hurts. A lot." Johnny broke out into a sweat. "Roy, I'm starting to feel lousy. Really lousy."

"Okay, let me get your vitals here..." Chet came back with the biophone and drug box. Roy placed the cuff around Johnny's right arm. He checked his pulse and respirations.

"Rampart Base, this is Rescue Fifty-One. We have a second victim..."

"Go ahead, Fifty-One."

"What's my BP?"

"Shhh...Rampart, vitals are: BP, 120/80, pulse rapid and weak, respirations eighteen. Patient is diaphoretic, there is bruising and tenderness in the mid chest."

"Man, I don't feel great...can't breathe good.." Johnny felt Roy's hand on his shoulder, saw his face begin to recede. An O2 mask was placed on his face. A siren sounded in the distance.

**Chapter Six**

Kel Brackett and Joe Early were huddled together at the base station, listening to Fifty-One's call. They could hear Johnny's voice in the background. They glanced at each other, then Joe picked up the phone. He dialed a number.

"This is Dr. Early in E.R...alert the Thoracic Team." He turned to Dixie. I'm going to need Treatment Three, a cut-down tray, type and cross-match for six units."

"Okay, Joe."

'Kel's voice rose. "What do you mean, you have no Ringers, damn it? Okay, fine. start an IV with Normal Saline and administer 5 mgs MS IV."

"Rampart, we have no MS."

"Kel's face flushed with anger. Joe leaned in to the mike.

"Fifty-One, you have Meperidine?"

"That's affirmative. Rampart, victim is experiencing increased difficulty breathing."

Elevate head and chest, adminster O2, start an IV with Normal Saline, administer 5mg Meperidine IV, and transport immediately."

"Elevate, Normal Saline, 5mg Meperidine, Ten-Four."

**Chapter Seven**

"Chet, could you help Johnny sit up a little? just let him rest against you."

"Sure." Chet gently raised Johnny to a semi-sitting position, and sat behind him, Johnny's back resting on Chet's chest. "I got ya, Pal."

Johnny opened his mouth to say something, but the pain took his breath away.

"All righty, the IV is in. Here's something for the pain." Roy injected the line with Meperidine. The biophone crackled.

"Fifty-One, is the ambulance there?"

"Affirmative."

"Keep victim elevated and monitor vitals during transport. How is the first victim?" Roger grabbed the handset.

"Victim One is ambulatory and ready to transport." Roy glanced up. Cap and Mike had assisted Marco to his feet and were helping him climb into the ambulance. The stretcher was wheeled next to Johnny.

"Okay, let's keep him elevated. On three..." Roy, Chet, and one of the attendants lifted Johnny onto the stretcher and loaded it into the ambulance. Roger handed Roy the biophone and drug box. "I'll bring the squad." As the door closed on Johnny, Marco, and Roy, Johnny's voice was heard.

"Hey, Marco. How ya doin?"

**Chapter Eight**

"Just going to check your BP again..." Roy gently placed the cuff on Johnny's left arm to avoid putting pressure near the IV line in his right arm. "How ya doing?"

"My, uh...my back kinda hurts."

"Okay, we'll be there soon." Roy inflated the cuff, took the BP, then took it again. He grabbed the biophone.

"Rampart, Rescue Fifty-One. Victim's BP is 200/190." patient is complaining of back pain."

"What kind of pain, Fifty-One?" Roy leaned over Johnny. "Johnny, can you describe the pain?" Johnny looked at him, confused. "Johnny, what kind of pain is it? Can you describe it?

"Tearing. Like something is tearing." He gasped. "Man, it's hurting. Roy..."

"Shh..." Roy lifted the handset. "Rampart, victim describes it as a tearing pain."

Johnny's hand went out, reaching for Roy. "It's hurting, man, it's hurting..." Marco grabbed his hand. "Hang on, Johnny."

The biophone crackled. "Fifty-One, check his BP in the other arm."

As Roy checked Johnny's BP, Johnny lost his grasp of Marco's hand. His eyes closed.

"90/60. Victim's losing consciousness." Roy placed a hand on Johnny's chest, then yelled to the ambulance driver.

"Pull over! Now!" he grabbed the handset. "Rampart, victim has stopped breathing." Anticipating instructions from the base station, Roy grabbed an esophageal airway.

"Fifty-One, insert esophageal airway."

The airway inserted, Roy called out. "Go, go!" Marco reached out with his good hand and assisted Johnny's breathing. Roy grabbed the handset.

"Airway inserted. ETA, five minutes." He checked Johnny's BP again. "BP still 200/190."

"Fifty-One, Check BP in other arm."

"60/40." He glanced at Marco, still assisting Johnny's respirations, his eyes focused on Johnny's chest as it rose and fell every time Marco breathed for him.

**Chapter Nine**

"Room Three."

Dixie preceded the stretcher into Treatment Three, holding the door open as Roy, an attendant, and an orderly ran Johnny's stretcher into the hospital. They entered Treatment Three, where a gowned, masked, and gloved up Joe Early was waiting.

"Okay, let's get him on the respirator." Roy switched Johnny from manually assisted breathing to the respirator, which automatically forced air into and out of his lungs. Dixie shoved Roy aside as she drew blood for a type and cross match. Kel Brackett bent over Johnny's chest with a stethoscope. He nodded at Joe. "Dissection. Sounds ascending, Joe. His chest is full of blood. I'll go scrub. The thoracic team is in O.R. Four." He disappeared.

Dixie handed a tube of blood to Roy. "Get this to the lab, tell them we need it stat."

**Chapter Ten**

Roy ran Johnny's blood to the lab for type and crossmatch and ran back, falling over a wheelchair in his rush to return to Johnny's side. He pushed through the door of Treatment Three.

The room was empty.

The gurney where Johnny had lain was gone, a trickle of blood running from the room to the elevator. Roy stood wide-eyed in the doorway, staring at the aftermath of Dr. Early's struggle to stabilize Johnny before rushing him to O.R. Equipment was scattered around the room. On the floor was a sodden mass of clothing, frantically cut off by the nursing team.

In the middle of the floor was Johnny's motorcycle jacket. Roy picked it up and examined it. It was in one piece. He remembered how he had kept the jacket under Johnny as he was lifted into ambulance and it had somehow stayed under him all the way into the treatment room. It was covered in blood.

The door opened and Dixie entered, saw him, and smiled wearily. Roy held the jacket up.

"He, uh...told me to be careful with this. Said it's new." Dixie nodded. "Yeah. Musta been expensive, leather costs, you know."

"Yeah. You know how to uh, clean blood outta leather?" Dixie shook her head. "No. I'm sure the dry cleaners will know. They see everything."

"Yeah." Roy looked around again. "I don't get what happened. He took a fall, bashed his ribs on the handlebars...where did all this blood come from?"

"Johnny was bleeding into his chest. Dr. Early had to drain it before he...so Johnny could breathe. Neatness didn't count."

"Where is he?"

"In O.R. The thoracic team has him now."

"Oh. I thought I could uh...see him again."

"Yeah, I know. Roy," Dixie bit her lip, her voice trembled. "Johnny signed a donor card..." Roy stared at her.

"A donor card?"

"Yeah, and you're next of kin. Roy, I need you to know, just in case..." Roy shook his head.

"No. He doesn't need it. He's not gonna die." He felt Dixie's hand on his arm.

"He has a 30% chance."

Roy's arm went around Dixie's shoulder. "He's not gonna die, Dix. He just got this jacket. You said he musta paid a lot of money for it. You know how cheap he is. He wouldn't pay a lot of money for a jacket he'd only wear once..."

The jacket dropped onto the bloody floor as Roy hugged Dixie. "He's not gonna die." he heard Dixie's voice, muffled by his chest.

"No. He's not gonna die."

**Chapter Eleven**

Johnny's last memory was the sound of the siren. In the blink of an eye, everything changed. He was surrounded by activity, bright lights were making him cringe, monitors were beeping...and he was choking to death.

"It's all right, John. You have an endotracheal tube inserted. It's helping you breathe. I know it's uncomfortable. Just try to relax." A hand smoothed the hair off his forehead. He reached up and grabbed it, tried to speak. The hand pulled away.

"It's all right. You can't speak. You're in CICU. We're going to take good care of you. Just relax. Try to sleep." He saw the outline of a nurse's face. She smiled at him. "Just rest. I'll be right back."

Johnny tried to remember what had happened. He saw the motorcycle. Marco was on the back. He'd never had a passenger before. Man, the bike rode differently with that extra weight...He'd glanced back, seen a grin on Marco's face. Maybe he could talk Marco into getting a bike, too. That would be incredible...but then Marco was flying through the air, hitting the wall...and he was hitting the handlebars, feeling a crack as his ribs broke.

His ribs...he was in CICU for broken ribs? The Coronary Intensive Care Unit? Had something punctured his heart? He put his hand on his chest. It was thickly bandaged. He could feel the tenderness through the bandage. He started to work the edge of the bandage off. If he could just get his fingers under the bandage, maybe he could figure out what happened to his ribs...but didn't the nurse tell him he was in CICU? He must have heard wrong. It couldn't be the CICU. Must be Recovery. Oh man, was Marco okay? He'd hit that wall so hard...he must have - "

"Junior, come on, leave that alone, now."

Johnny opened his eyes. Roy was smiling at him. He tried to speak and choked on the endotracheal tube.

"You can't talk."

Johnny's fist hit the gurney in frustration.

"Hey, relax. You're gonna be okay. You remember what happened?" Johnny shook his head slightly.

"Remember the accident?" He nodded.

"You got a tear in your aorta. A dissection. The ascending part...carries blood from your heart to your brain." Johnny's eyes opened wide. He reached for Roy. Roy clutched his hand.

"It's gonna be okay. They got it in time. Three days ago. You been here since. It's gonna be okay." Johnny shook his head. Roy leaned down to him.

"Junior," he whispered. "It's okay. You're through the worst part. Keep getting better and that tube will come out. Then you can ask all the questions you want." His eyes filled with tears. "Just...rest, okay? I been here three days. I gotta go home and get some sleep, then I'll be back. Promise." He patted Johnny's shoulder and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Joanne is getting your jacket cleaned. See ya later."

And he was gone.

Johnny stared into the light over his gurney as the cardiac monitor tracked the beating of his heart.

A tear in his aorta? He recalled the poster of the cardiovascular system prominently displayed in the classroom during paramedic training, Dr. Brackett's impatient voice lecturing. "And this, my firemen friends, is the ascending aorta. A dissection here is usually fatal."

"My firemen friends." Johnny hated that snide tone, thought Brackett was one person he could never like. Fear, yes. Respect, grudgingly. But like...never.

Times had changed. He respected and admired the man.

"...a dissection here is usually fatal..."

Johnny cringed as spotty memories returned. His knowledge of the cardiovascular system. The pain he'd felt. That tearing sensation...of course. That was his aorta dissecting. The sting as Roy started the IV. Chet supporting him to ease his breathing. He shivered with fear as it all came back.

"...usually fatal..."

"John, you cold?" The nurse had returned. He shook his head.

"I have your pain meds. You should sleep with these." She injected his line.

"Johnny tried to speak, to ask the question no one had answered. He choked again.

"Don't try to talk. Just rest. She turned to go. johnny's eyes filled with tears. Suddenly she was back, leaning over his face and smiling.

"John, I almost forgot. Your friend Marco Lopez says he'll come by and see you tomorrow." Johnny grinned around the trach tube.

"Get some rest." Her footsteps retreated.

"...fatal..."

Like hell...

**Chapter Twelve**

"Almost done."

Johnny clenched his fists as the nurse suctioned secretions from the trach tube. He glared at her.

"I know that feels awful. I'm sorry." She patted his shoulder. He twisted, trying to move his shoulder away from her hand.

"John, good morning. Bet you don't remember me. Dr. Carson. I did your dissection repair. You had us going for a while. Almost went into renal failure. You're doing fine, now, breathing on your own. I'd like to remove that tube. Okay?"

Johnny nodded as vigorously as he could.

"Okay. You've got a cuff inflated here, holding the tube in place. The nurses have been suctioning your lungs. That's going to be your job now...you're going to have to cough all that stuff up. And it's going to hurt at the surgical site when you do. Okay?" Johnny rolled his eyes and nodded.

O2 prongs were placed in his nostrils. He felt a release of pressure as the cuff was deflated, and he gagged as Dr. Carson removed the tube. The gagging turned into hoarse coughing as his body struggled to clear his irritated airway.

"Doing fine, John. Cough as much as you need." Tears ran down Johnny's face as he sputtered and gasped.

"Shit...this sucks, man." His voice sounded awful. Dr. Carson laughed. "First words out of your mouth are complaints. The sign of a man ready to be discharged to the CardioThoracic Unit. That's where the real fun begins. What do you say, nurse?" She laughed.

"I agree. Much as we've enjoyed having you here, John, it's time you blew this joint." Johnny fell back on his pillows.

"Cut out the wisecracks, would ya?" he croaked. "When can I get the hell outta here?"

"As soon as we can get you transferred." Johnny grinned, coughed, and winced. Dr Carson wrote the day's orders on Johnny's chart. "John, I'm keeping your morphine level the same. Let the staff know how much pain, you've got, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Johnny hacked up a chunk of mucus. The nurse handed him a basin. "Spit, don't swallow."

"Okay, okay."

"Keep coughing, John. See you down in the CT Unit." Dr. Carson closed Johnny's chart and handed it to the nurse. She smiled at Johnny. "I'll get started discharging you to CT." She walked away, leaving Johnny to his thoughts.

How much longer was he going to be in the hospital? Was his heart okay? Could he return to work? As he drifted off to sleep again, his thoughts wandered.

How much was it going to cost to repair the Harley?

How big would the scar be?

What about chicks?

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Watch it, would ya?"

Johnny grimaced as the respiratory therapist raised his bed to an upright position.

"I am watching it, Mr. Gage. You want to get better, you have to do these breathing exercises." He plunked an odd looking device on the table in front of him. Johnny eyed it tiredly.

"This is an incentive spirometer."

"What's the incentive?"

"Proper lung function. You want your lungs clear and strong when you go home." He handed the spirometer to Johnny. Take a deep breath and blow into the mouthpiece as hard as you can. Try to get all three balls up to the top. Go on, let's see what you can do."

"Okay, okay." Johnny tried to take a deep breath. He winced at the pain in his chest.

"Just do your best." Johnny blew into the spirometer, as the respiratory therapist encouraged him. "Blow, blow, blow, blow..." Johnny blew until the room started to spin. He stopped, shocked at his inability to slam the balls to the top of the spirometer.

"Good job. I'm leaving this with you. Use it every hour. And I mean every hour."

"All right, all right."

"See you tomorrow. Oh, and keep coughing."

"Okay, okay, geez."

The effort of exercising his lungs had exhausted Johnny, and he dozed off. When he opened his eyes, Marco was sitting by his bed, his neck in a cervical collar, his arm in a sling.

"Marco!" Johnny croaked. Last time I saw you was in the ambulance. How ya doin'?"

"I'm good. Just a little whiplash. And a separated shoulder. I'm fine. That was some wild ride, huh?"

"Yeah. Listen, I'm sorry, man." Marco waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. I always wanted to ride a Harley. If I hadn't asked...we wouldn't be here. So you...uh...gonna keep the bike?"

"Dunno. Man, riding that thing is like flying." Marco nodded. "I know. And I only rode on the back, but it was something. You know, I was thinking...if you keep her, I might get one, too. Then we could be riding buddies." Johnny grinned.

"Riding buddies...I was thinking the same thing. You and me...flying down the road...man...it would be incredible...just incredible.

"What would be incredible?" Roy stood in the doorway, a quizzical expression on his face. Johnny and Marco exchanged a glance.

"Oh...nothing..."

"Uh huh. That's why you look so guilty. Come on, Johnny." Johnny and Marco exchanged another glance. Marco shrugged. Johnny couldn't quite bring himself to look at Roy.

"We were just talking motorcycles." Roy's eyes narrowed.

"What about 'em?"

"About..." Johnny took a deep breath, winced at the pain, and tried to look Roy in the eyes.

"About maybe being...riding buddies."

"Riding buddies."

"Yeah. Look, Roy..."

But Roy was gone.

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Heya Gage, how ya doing, man?" Johnny rolled his eyes. Of all the people he didn't want to see, Chet was at the top of the list. Johnny had been in the CardioThoracic Unit four days. And Roy hadn't come back since he'd walked out that first day. No visit, no call, nothing. Johnny had called his home, left messages. Nothing.

"Chet." Johnny swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood carefully, and shuffled to the recliner near the bed. Chet offered an arm, but Johnny waved him off. "I can do do it, I can do it." He eased himself into the recliner, folded his hands and stared up at Chet.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"look, I know this isn't a social call. You came to razz me. So get it over with and go, would ya?" Chet shook his head.

"I didn't come to razz ya, John. Just came to visit." Johnny turned his head and regarded Chet out of the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But I can take off if I'm not wanted. I got stuff to do, ya know."

"Nah, I'm sorry. I'm just in a bad mood, is all."

"Roy, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"We all know. He's driving everybody crazy."

"He's driving everybody crazy? Roy?"

"Yeah. He keeps talking about how you can't ride that Harley ever again."

"Oh, yeah? Well you just tell HIM - "

" And how he has no right to tell you that."

"WHY?" Chet laughed.

"Cause you're not his kid, man." Johnny shifted in the chair.

"Well...he still coulda told me."

"Give him a chance." Chet laughed. "Some of us aren't as bright as others."

"Uh huh. And you're one of the brighter ones."

"Well, yeah. Give him a chance. He'll come around." He picked a bag up and handed it to Johnny. "Here. Brought ya a little gift." Johnny rolled his eyes.

"Okay, what is it?"

"Take a look." Chet suppressed a chuckle as Johnny suspiciously opened the bag. He pulled out a box.

"'Build Your Own Motorcycle Model.'" Johnny examined the box. "Real, uh...clever, Chet."

"Thought it would keep you busy."

"Ya know, maybe it will. I'm gonna be here another week. Thanks. This is the first real gift you've ever given me."

"No sweat. Oh, there's another gift in the bag."

"Oh, yeah?" Johnny reached into the bag and pulled out another box.

"'Ken Motorcycle Doll.' Okay Kelly, that's not funny."

"Hey Gage, you know how long it took me to find that? They don't make a lot of Ken dolls with leather jackets, ya know." Chet took off for the door as Johnny drew the doll back. He disappeared as Johnny hurled the doll. It hit Roy in the shoulder as he came through the door. Johnny yelped in pain and grabbed his chest.

"Damn it!"

There was a pause as Johnny and Roy looked uncomfortably at each other. Roy picked up the doll.

"You, uh...lose this?"

"No, I...wanna give it to Jenny." Roy shrugged. "Sure. Don't think she has one of these." There was another silence. "So...feel like some company?"

"Yeah, I uh...yeah. Have a seat.

"You look better."

"Four days is a long time."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, John."

"Why haven't you come to see me, returned my calls?"

Roy took a deep, tremulous breath. "Your jacket."

"My jacket?"

"Yeah. Joanne took it to the dry cleaners. They couldn't get the blood out. It's ruined."

"Wait...you've been avoiding me because my jacket is ruined? Come on, Roy. Talk to me, man."

"No, Junior...it is your jacket. I held it. It was dripping blood. Johnny, there was no Ringers in the drug box, no morphine...I barely got you here alive. And then they took you to O.R. and all that was left was the jacket, blood everywhere...not just blood...your blood...my best friend's blood...Dixie talking about donor cards and my being next of kin...I didn't think I was gonna see you alive again.

"Roy, I -"

"And then..." "Roy grimaced. "...the first thing you talked about was riding that damn bike."

There was a long silence. Johnny finally spoke, his voice soft, his eyes downcast.

"But why didn't you just talk to me, lecture me, yell at me, like you usually do?" Roy stood and walked to the window. He looked into the distance.

"What was I supposed to say? Give up the Harley because I don't want you to die?" Roy shook his head. "I don't have the right to do that. I can't tell you how to live your life." He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Sure, you can." Roy turned and looked at his best friend, pale, shaking, emaciated, clutching his sore chest.

"Johnny...give up the Harley." Johnny hesitated, then nodded. "Okay, Pally. I'll give up the Harley. But you gotta help me find a buyer."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. That's it. Roy?"

"Yeah?"

"I gotta sit down. Now."

**Chapter Fifteen**

"welcome back, John. What's in the box?"

Eight weeks later, Johnny returned to work. He placed a cardboard box on the bench in front of his locker.

"Thanks, Cap. Glad to be back."

"Gage!" Chet sauntered over and leaned against Johnny's locker. "Ya bring me a gift for all those times I visited you?" Johnny snorted.

"You only came over trying to weasel a dinner invitation outta Joanne. Like she didn't have enough to do with me in the house."

Marco poked his head around the corner. "Johnny! Welcome back!"

"Thanks, Marco."

Mike swung the door open and smiled. "Thought that was your Rover out in the lot. Good to have you back, John."

"Thanks, Mike." Johnny started to change, then looked around. "Okay, okay, you jokers wanna see the scar?" They nodded. Johnny rolled his eyes and unbuttoned his shirt. His friends stared silently at the scar emblazoned on his chest. He grabbed his uniform shirt and pulled it on. "Okay, show's over. Can we just get on with it?"

Roy walked in. "What's going on? Oh...the scar." Johnny buttoned his shirt. "Show's over, Roy. You missed it."

"I've seen it." He looked down. "What's in the box?"

Johnny glanced down. "Oh, that. Almost forgot." he opened the box and pulled out the completed motorcycle model. He placed it on the top shelf of his locker. Closest I'll ever get to riding a Harley. Just a reminder of how it felt, ya know." His friends admired it and wandered away. Johnny sighed. Roy patted him on the back.

"You made the right decision, you know."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Who'd you unload the bike on?"

"Some guy. Hope he has better luck than me."

"That's for sure. Let me get rid of this box." Roy picked up the box and started to carry it out of the locker room. Johnny grabbed it and pulled a sheet of paper out. "Okay. Now you can have it." He folded the paper and stuck it under the model. Roy eyed him suspiciously.

"What's that?"

"Nothing. It's just - " Roy lifted the model and took the paper. "Now, Roy. It's okay. I checked them out. They're legit, man." Roy gulped.

"Sky diving? You're gonna go sky diving?"

"It's not what you think. The parachutes have three fail safes. Three!" Roy shook his head. He ripped the paper into pieces and tossed them in the box. He glared at Johnny and left the locker room. Johnny ran after him.

"Roy - "

"Forget it."

"Hey, you can't tell me how to live my life!"

Roy tossed the box in the garbage. "My wife spends five weeks waiting on you hand and foot, you turn my whole house upside down, I spend the next three weeks listening to you complain about how bored you are - so you can go out and break every bone in your body? Forget it!"

"Hey, you're not my father! Stop telling me what to do!"

"I don't wanna be your father! But someone has to tell you what to do. You don't have the brains God gave a fly!"

"Oh, yeah? Well let me tell you something..."

As Roy and Johnny continued to squabble outside, Chet and Marco stood in front of Johnny's locker, admiring the tiny Harley.

"I can't believe he sold it to you, Marco."

"Me neither. I just had to promise not to tell Roy."

"Yeah. Say, Marco...I was thinking about maybe getting myself a bike. Whadaya think?" Marco grinned.

"Sure. We could be riding buddies. How about you come over to my place after shift and I'll give you a ride?"

"All right. Just uh...don't tell anyone. Cause when you get right down to the heart of the matter, it isn't anyone's business."

Roy burst through the door of the locker room, Johnny close behind.

"Discussion's over."

"Like hell it is! Look, Roy - "

The klaxons sounded.

"Squad 51, motorcycle accident with injuries..."

THE END


End file.
